


It's 4:00am and I Can't Call You

by CousinNick



Category: South Park
Genre: Basically Tweeks bf and friends are the literal best, Friend is sad?! Must help friend with tacos and video games!, I based off Tweeks Anxiety Disorder on my own, M/M, Mental Illness, Tacos and coffee at 4:03am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinNick/pseuds/CousinNick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers scrolled down his contacts list with a premeditated rush of anxiety. He didn't want to have to call him again, and so early in the morning. But he always seemed to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's 4:00am and I Can't Call You

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love the friendship dynamics in Craig's Gang, like, I want them all to have good times with Salsa Verde and video games from the '90s.  
> ...  
> This fic is based off of a drabble I wrote on tumblr.

He knew he was allowed to call, to text, to message—to be annoying as fuck and wake the other up at the ass crack of dawn like he always seemed to need to do whenever he had these godawful panic attacks. This time it was about the terrifying prospect of his future—Jesus Christ, what if he didn’t even _have_ a future to panic about?! What if his brain was at this very minute about to hemorrhage from all these negative thoughts just buzzing and churning in his brain like little stinger prodding wasps? He bit his lip harshly and whined in pain. Fuck. He drew blood again. God damn it.  
  
Tweek sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and licked at the coppery taste that peaked on his tongue, dyeing his saliva pink. Humming pitifully to himself, he forgot why he was so distressed in the first place. Something about his driver’s test scheduled for Monday maybe? Or was it about the coffee stain he accidentally left on the Star Wars shirt Craig let him borrow—which he subsequently spotted with bleach in his anxious attempt at cleaning said coffee stain, leaving it permanently ruined. Maybe it was about how he could never ever remember just what in the hell he was supposed to be freaking out about. He tugged at his hair and whined again. Too much pressure.  
  
Well, there was only one thing to do. Eyeing his little rickety nightstand that held his collection of dog eared Alfred Hitchcock murder novels and rubber bands (that he could shoot and launch at any gnome that tried to steal his underthings—it was Craig’s brilliant idea), he found the glossy black sheen of his turned off cellphone. Snatching it up, he thumbed at the slightly shattered glass on the case. He had dropped it in the boy’s locker room in sophomore year when Cartman pushed him into the metal hinges of a locker because he couldn’t for the life of him stop twitching, apparently pissing off the bigger dude. Tweek drew his eyebrows into a furrow at the memory.  
  
Pressing the top button with a little too much fervor, his other hand clutched at his chest. Dragging his nails into the soft worn fabric of his shirt he nervously awaited the phone to start up and wash his face in the din of blue light.  
  
Whenever he got like this, whenever he thought he was going to have a panic attack or when shit just got too real, he was instructed to text Craig. It had been an agreement they made a few years ago when Tweek had totally freaked out during a party held at Bebe’s house and he started to hyperventilate on the back patio. Craig, thank god, had found him and eased him out of the worst of his anxiety by droning on and on about supernova’s and how in 500 billion years in the future the sun was going collapse anyway so there’s nothing to really to be scared of, especially claustrophobic crowds of strangers pushing frothy booze into ones hand, and somehow, that actually calmed Tweek down. That, and the fact that the other let him clutch at his jacket and blow snot on his shirt collar. Craig cringed and made faces of disgust but didn’t peel the other off of his side. In fact, once Tweek was able to actually breathe crisp mountain air back into his lungs, Craig had led him out of the crowded party and onto the slightly quieter neighborhood street to walk him home and gaze at the stars on the Tuckers lawn.  
  
It was reasons like that that made Tweek feel really god damn lucky. He knew romance didn’t solve mental health issues, and he sure as hell knew that there was only so much that could be done whenever he felt like clawing at his ribs or felt like he wanted to disappear—not die, but just maybe not exist anymore so he didn’t have to feel the impending tightness of the world around him. But Craig, Craig fucking Tucker was always there for him it seemed. Sometimes with a wry twist of his lips that only Tweek was privy to when he did something exceptionally adorably foolish, and sometimes with a tired sigh because Tweek had yet again cut his thumb open accidentally with his nail clippers and caffeine induced trembling.  
  
Tweek took a stuttering breath as he scanned his contacts, looking for that old picture of Stripe that he had taken a few months ago because his eyes were welling up with stressed induced tears and he couldn’t trust himself to decipher the words “Space Man Craig,” on his phones screen. Finding at once the picture of the spotted fat rodent, Tweek aimed his thumb at the screen, but paused.  
  
Flicking his eyes to his clock he ground his teeth tightly against each other. It was 4:03am. Guiltily, he looked back at his phone and dropped it on his lap with a curse. He couldn’t wake up Craig now. He was always waking him up at odd hours in the night, to ramble into his phone all the troubles and bad dreams his mind had just conjured up in his swirled mess of a head. He wasn’t a fool, he knew Craig loved him, but even Tweek was starting to grow sick of his own insecurities and anxieties. Making Craig lose even more sleep over Tweek was not something the blond wanted to happen.  
  
Staring to and fro from his alarm clock to his phone contacts, he sighed pitifully. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t be the one to wake up Craig because his bullshit boyfriend had another fucked up thought in his fucked up head. He’d just have to rely on his anxiety medicine—the prescription meds he couldn’t touch until at least late afternoon, but the homeopathic shit Butters hooked him up with from the new Whole Foods could work.  
  
Sitting up he wound his hand into the opened crack of his nightstand to pull out the little blue plastic tube of pills. Twisting the childproof cap a couple of times, he was able to free three little calm-inducing drops made effective by some weird herb or chemical named ignatia amara. After popping them in his mouth and effectively forgetting to let them dissolve on his tongue, he swallowed them and waited a few seconds. Then, a few minutes. He could still feel his pulse beating way too loud in his head and his limbs felt seconds away from their next involuntary jerk. His shoulder tensed and then a spasm wracked his muscles, causing the little tube of pills to jerk from his hands and roll under his messy bed with a mocking clatter. Like hell he was going to crawl under there and get them—He knew monsters couldn’t possibly fit under there, but he still wasn’t taking the god damn chance to get eaten. Weirder things had happened in South Park.  
  
“Well ngh fuck!” He cursed softly, stubbornly. There was no way in hell those pills were gonna’ solve his problem anyway. He’d have to call Craig.  
  
Dragging his short bitten nails down his face he sighed distressingly and cleared his throat with a wet cough. He hated the thought of waking Craig up yet again because he couldn’t handle his shit. Just once couldn’t he be a well-adjusted teenager—as well adjusted as teenagers go?!  
  
Fiddling with his phone his thumbs scrolled up and down a couple of seconds more before he huffed in frustration and stabbed at the call button. Smacking the phone to his ear he yelped at the cold glass on his flesh. Swearing softly under his breath he waited until the call was picked up after the fourth ring—God, Craig must have really been sleeping deeply. Ugh, and now he just woke him up!  
  
“Hello?” A yawn, groggy and not entirely coherent sounded in his ear. Tweek’s green eyes opened wide and his lip curled up when he ground his teeth together to suppress a shriek. That was definitely not Craig’s voice. Even when he wasn’t asleep, Craig Tucker still had the most nasally voice ever heard on the entire planet and beyond. This voice on the other line was just sleepy, nothing stuffy about it at all. Shit.  
  
“Hellooooo? If this is a prank call I’m hanging up…Unless I just won something.” A rushing rustling was heard, the sound of bed sheets crinkling suddenly. “Holy shit did I win something?! Am I on the radio?” The voice was wide awake now, excitement ringing on the other end of the phone.  
  
Tweek tried to choke back on an embarrassed scream, causing his “Gah!” to turn into a weakened “Ghnn!” Still, it was loud enough to scare the shit out of his Senegal parrot named coffee-bean who began to beat his wings fiercely inside his cloth covered cage. Tweeks eye began to twitch.  
  
“Wait…Tweek? Is that you, bro?” Clyde’s voice grew low and quiet, afraid he’d startle the kid who had apparently just called him at 4:17 in the morning.  
  
Tweek resisted the temptation to yank at a tuff of his hair, but gave in anyway. He cringed in pain.  
  
“Ye-Yeah, Hi Clyde. Sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to call you. Nnn.” How could he have been so foolish?! God, he really hated himself. Scrunching his toes under his now cold bed sheets he flopped his head down on his pillow, feeling a migraine already beginning to buzz in his skull.  
  
“No, dude, it’s cool. What’s up? Are you okay? Is Craig there?” He asked, and Tweek could hear more rustling on the phone before the distinctive sound of something jingling creeped into Tweek’s ears.  
  
“Um, I’ll be okay. And, no. Craig’s not here—I was just about to call him but called you instead. Sorry.” Tweek mumbled, feeling pity and self-loathing all at once. Jesus Christ he really needed to stop that. It wasn’t his fault Clyde was right above Craig in his list of contacts.  
  
“Ah, I see.” Tweek could hear the lazy smirk in Clyde’s voice and it made the blond smile. Clyde’s easy demeanor always had a way of putting others at ease, and Tweek was no exception. The dude was just so laid back and confident. He was also a jackass, yeah, but a nice one for sure.  
  
“Well, if you’ll hang tight for like ten minutes, I’ll be at your house in a jiffy, kay?” Tweek heard the rumble of Clyde’s shitty red Ford Explorer groan to life at the twist of a key in the ignition.  
  
“Wait, what?!” Tweek sat up and almost smacked his head into the corner of his oaken book shelf, making him wince out of involuntary habit. What did Clyde just say?!  
  
“Yeah, I would be there sooner but I gotta’ warm up my baby girl before I head out. Frost on the windshield’s a bitch, you know?”  
  
No, Tweek didn’t know. He didn’t own a car, and he really had no desire to since cars were literally motorized death machines, and whenever he got behind the wheel of one he was almost certain he’d either kill himself or others. It was that reason that Craig or Token always drove him around whenever they wanted to hang out at the mall or go to Shakey’s Pizza. Tweek shoved his knuckle into his mouth and started to bite—hard.  
  
“Clyde, you don’t have to come over, really, I’m nn. I’m okay.” That was probably a lie, but he felt like he’d spiral into another panic if Clyde really showed up at his house just to talk him down from being a complete and utter basket case. It was bad enough thinking about waking Craig up, but to make Clyde go out in the cold Colorado morning? Unthinkable.  
  
“No can do, home skillet. It sounds like you need some quality time chilling with your best friend, Clyde.” Tweek could hear the sound of Clyde’s blinker in the background clicking.  
  
“Clyde!” Tweek whined, throwing his legs over the side of his messy bed, cradling his phone against the crook of his neck and his shoulder so that he could shove his feet into his converse. They were lime green and his favorite since Craig got them for him last year for Christmas.  
  
“Sorry not sorry.” Clyde snickered on the other end of the phone. “Alright, I gotta’ hang up now. I can’t let officer Barbrady catch me on the phone driving. See you real soon, Tweek!” The phone went dead.  
  
Tweek screeched into his hands.  
  
It wasn’t even six minutes and forty seconds—Tweek counted—that Clyde pulled up to the front of the Tweak house. Tweek was waiting at the front steps of the little sagging porch, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie to keep warm. He frowned when Clyde rolled down the window, the sounds of Taylor Swift’s 1989 album spilling into his driveway.  
  
“Yo’ Tweek! Hop in, little buddy!” Clyde grinned, the sleep from his eyes disappearing as they crinkled. Already his nose was bright red and dripping and Tweek felt bad, real bad, at making the other drive out here in the still snowy darkness.  
  
“Nnn! Not so loud, dude!” Tweek hissed, darting his eyes back to his front door. It was good his parents were heavy sleepers, thank God—they had to be, especially when their son always seemed to wake up with a screech from nightmares about zombie cats or vampires taking over the town.  
  
“Right, right, sorry!” Clyde smiled sheepishly, unlocking the passenger side door for the other to crawl in. Tweek almost slipped on the slushy brown snow that collected onto of the running board of the car. Once settled, he checked three times that his seat belt was on and was secure, before he nodded at Clyde who wore a bemused expression on his face before he stabbed his foot on the gas pedal with a “yippee kai yay, motherfucker!” Tweek almost felt his heart leap out of his chest.  
  
“Okay, so. I know I’m not Craig, or anything, but I want you to be able to come to me whenever shit gets tough, you know? So, here’s what I’ve decided—and you totally have no say in the matter because I know best.” Clyde drawled off, finally easing the car back down the street before turning onto the main road, the snow ploughs having scrapped off most of the street paint. Tweek kept darting his eyes to what was left of the yellow dotted lines that swam like a blur against piled snow and Clyde’s twisting steering wheel. Clyde wasn’t the best of drivers and this was not a preferable day for him to die, Tweek decided.  
  
Pulling into an almost deserted parking lot, Clyde put the car in park and cut the engine with a glinting smile. Tweek looked out of the snow speckled window shield to see the muted lavender color of a taco bell in the cold morning darkness.  
  
“Clyde.” Tweek huffed with slight annoyance, but the other excited teen was already giddily hopping out of the car and rounding the front fender to drag Tweek out of his own seat.  
  
“C’moooon. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, and I know you haven’t either! Plus, I figured while we eat we can have a little chat. About anything. Anything you want, honest. I’ve been reading up on Wikipedia articles so I’m ready for anything you could possibly throw at me!” The other tugged relentlessly at Tweek’s arm, pulling him towards the entrance of his favorite eatery of choice.  
  
Tweek failed to suppress a fond smile for the other, knowing that Clyde really did have his friend’s best interest at heart. Even when Craig and he started dating and their friend dynamics started to shift, Clyde and Token had been persistent in making sure Tweek knew he was still one of their best friends—a corner stone, as Token said, to the group. Or, as Clyde put it, that one awesome friend that has the absolutely vital Netflix account for monster movie marathons.  
  
Already Clyde had found them a booth—his favorite spot next to the soda fountains, so that refills were always time effective and orderly. Clyde had a system, and he’d let no one change it.  
  
“Okay, you wait here and I’ll order for us, okay? You want your usual?” Clyde asked, and Tweek chewed the bottom of his lip for a moment, taking his time when both he and Clyde knew that he was just going to order what he always did because ordering food was a lot of pressure and patterns of regularity were the best solution to anxiety.  
  
Giving a swift nod, Tweek offered a small thanks, sinking his back into the warm but very uncomfortable plastic booth cushion. Clyde winked, his hands making finger-guns that he supplied with a clicking noise from his tongue and cheek before he was bounding off towards the counter. Tweek swore the other addressed the cashier by her first name without even glancing at her name-tag, he was that much of a regular.  
  
Tweek, thank God, didn’t have to wait long for Clyde to come back with a paper covered tray hauling their piled food. As he set down their greasy but oh-so delectable breakfast, a few red and green crayons rolled next to what Tweek knew was his three paper cups of coffee. Quirking his eyes up at the jock, Tweek smirked, though it still felt timid and tired on his cold chapped lips.  
  
“What? I like to color while I eat. I am a creative old soul.” Clyde shrugged sheepishly, snatching up the offered crayons before he ripped the coloring mat from under the tray. Simultaneously starting to color in the outline of a taco with bright green, he eased his first beefy crunch burrito from its wrapper with a muttered ‘thank you taco Gods.’  
  
A few minutes went by of Tweek sipping at his hot coffee chalked up with sugar packets, idly picking at his cinnamon twists that Clyde bought him, sure that the blond would like something to try to settle his stomach.  
  
“Okay. Enough of that.” Clyde flicked the stub of the red crayon back onto the tray where wads of paper from his massacred tacos and burritos were piled high. Snatching up his dr. pepper, he slurped noisily, brown eyes trained on Tweek while his thick eyebrows waggled.  
  
“What’s on your mind, buddy?” He asked around his straw that his crooked teeth had already laid to waste, the plastic sealed shut from his clenched molars.  
  
Tweek made a pitched noise of distress before he dug his shoulders into his body. “Nothing, dude. I just called the wrong number this morning, honest.” Technically, Tweek thought that that was true and not a complete lie. But if he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t even remember what had freaked him out in the first place. Clyde was just that good of a distraction, with his goofy smiles and his friendly voice that droned on and on about the Denver Broncos and which flavor of twizzlers was the more superior—it was obviously the strawberry ones, duh. Cherry was the taste where flavor went to die, like that god damn shitty cough syrup their parents used to feed them all as kids.  
  
Even though Tweek knew he probably looked guilty, Clyde dropped it. No matter how dense the jock was, he had learned that when Tweek was ‘in his head’ it was best to let him come out of his own accord. In the meantime, the best remedy Clyde could offer him, was a distraction.  
  
“Alright, then how about we just shoot the shit and talk about whatever’s on our mind? No pressure, I promise.” Clyde grinned, and Tweek could see where the Verde Salsa sauce stained his teeth an off-green right to the gums.  
  
Matching the others grin with a wobbly one of his own, Tweek nodded, taking another one of the fried cinnamon twists and popping it in his mouth, the sugar and spice melting comfortingly on his tongue.  
  
…  
  
After about two and a half hours of mindless, wholesome chatter, Tweek was feeling much more relaxed. His muscles had yet to spasm aside from the occasional jolt of caffeine being dumped down his throat, and his usually wide awake eyes had become slightly hooded to match Clyde’s own sleepy brown ones.  
  
“…And that is the story of how I got Stan and those guys locked in Rancher Bills barn for the night.” Clyde leaned back, brushing taco shell crumbs from his red letterman jacket.  
  
“Jesus! Did anyone let them out?!” Tweek almost barked out a soft laugh.  
  
“Well, I mean, sure! I sent an anonymous message saying that they were in there—Token made me. I don’t think they minded that much, least not Stan. To be honest I think he liked spending the night with a whole herd of cattle hahaha. Well, come to think of it, Cartman was pissed. Thank God Rancher Bill didn’t have that pony anymore to bite my dick off.” Clyde took another slurp of his soda, eyes smug to match his chuckling.  
  
“Christ.” Tweek muttered, fiddling with the plastic cap of his coffee cup.  
  
“Yeah, it was great. Anyway…” Clyde paused to check his limited edition snacky cakes watch. “It’s time to get cracka-lackin’.” Shoving all their trash back onto the plastic gaudy purple tray, Clyde hummed as he dumped their waste into the garbage bin. He motioned for Tweek to wait just a few more minutes while he ordered some last minute variety tacos for the way home, stating seriously that one could never have too many tacos.  
  
Once Clyde had gotten his two bulky crates of tacos to-go, he strolled over to Tweek, shifting the weight in his arms and making sure he didn’t spill one delicious crumb.  
  
“Are you taking me home now?” Tweek wondered aloud, taking a final sip of his third coffee. It was cold as ice, but the muddy chalky flavor behind his teeth was a regular comfort no matter what.  
  
“In a matter of speaking.” The brunette quirked his thick brows, biting his tongue to keep from giggling as he balanced the food into the crook of his elbow. Tweek narrowed his own gaze suspiciously.  
  
“Clyde, what are you, ngh, thinking?” Tweek asked, unable to make a question sound like a demand if his life depended on it. Being forceful was just too hard, especially when everyone thought you were some delicate as fuck doll made out of paper and glass.  
  
“Well, I mean, it’s like almost 7:00am. Which means it’s not too early in the morning to make a house call on a certain rat-loving dilhole if you know what I mean.” Twirling his keys in his hand he threw them softly in the air but instead of catching them they clattered onto the floor. “Shit!” Clyde hissed as he bent to pick them up, almost spilling the entire two 12 packs of tacos in the process.  
  
“Clyde, No! Jesus! I can’t wake Craig up, I don’t want to bother him with my shit…Also he likes guinea pigs, not rats.” Tweek scolded, as an afterthought. He had begun to pick the skin from around his fingernails.  
  
The jock only rolled his eyes and heaved a heavily overdone sigh. “Tweek, my man. He isn’t gonna’ give a shit if you wake him up. The dude lives for only three things in this whole pathetic boring world. Ra…Guinea pigs. Red-Racer reruns on vhs. And you.” Clyde listed off on his pudgy fingers, twirling his car key’s around his pinky with better success than the last time. He leveled Tweek with a stare that made the other blush red despite himself.  
  
“Nnn. Fine. Asshole.” Tweek shrugged out of the booth, smiling carefully while elbowing Clyde’s ribs on principle as he followed him out of the restaurant and into the early morning cold. He knew Clyde was pretty much right, Craig made it a priority to care for very little, and wouldn’t mind too much to be disturbed, especially since the sun was already out and shining on this shit hole of a town. It was a much more convenient time than say, 4:00am. It was that last thought that gave Tweek courage.  
  
“You’ll thank me~!” Clyde sang off-key as he settled into the driver’s seat and turned on the defroster, the upstarting whirl of the car making Tweek twitch slightly in surprise before he calmed down with a hand clutched to his heart, fingers clawed into his dark green sweatshirt.  
  
“Oh, first things first though.” Clyde dug his cellphone out of his jeans pocket, relaxing back into the parked car seat as he busied himself with slowly typing out a text message. Each clack of the little keyboard put Tweek nervously on edge.  
  
“Wh…What are you doing?” Tweek mumbled, trying to see over the others broader shoulder. Clyde stuck his tongue out of the corner of his lips before, satisfied with his work, he hit send. Throwing the phone without a second thought to the other, he smashed his index finger onto a button of his shitty CD player. Instantly Taylor Swift blared.  
  
“Gah!” Tweek freaked for a quick second at the noise before he fumbled with the phone that Clyde threw to him. Looking over the recently sent messages, he saw one in a group chat and the other privately sent to one Craig Tucker. Curiously, he opened the group chat and saw that Clyde had texted Token, Kevin, and Jimmy, to get their asses over to Craig’s for morning tacos and videogames. There was even a sloppily written side note from Clyde begging Token to bring over the new Overwatch game and to pick up Jimmy since he couldn’t drive. The blond knew that Token was already an early riser and would have no trouble picking up the other guys, especially if there was the promise of cheesy beefy salty taco goodness to devour since Tokens parents were health freaks and didn’t keep good snacks in the house.  
  
Going back to the other log of text messages, Tweek opened the one addressed to his boyfriend, reading first Clyde’s blocky blue text bubble of “hey nerdface we’ll b at ur place n 15min unlock door mkay?” and following up with Craig’s simple “k.” Tweek smiled, a real curl of his pale lips. That was, until he heard Clyde’s pleased snickering that dissolved into cooing about how god damn sappy Tweek was.  
  
After scoffing with a little twitch of his shoulders, Tweek gently tossed Clyde back his phone, but he refused to look at Clyde’s dopey looking face the entire drive to the Tucker residence. Clyde’s mocking kissing noises were intolerable enough as it was.  
  
…  
  
True to Clyde’s instructions, the front door to the Tucker residence was blessedly unlocked.  
  
Token, Jimmy, and Kevin had pulled up behind Clyde just as Tweek and the brunette had gotten their seatbelts undone, already blowing their hot breath on their chill nipped fingers. Clyde wouldn’t stop whining the entire time about the morning frost, vocalizing his hope that Craig had at least turned on his portable room heater.  
  
Once they had all entered the dimly lit house, they all startled at the sound of the 7:30am morning news coming from the Livingroom opening. Each boy whipped their head to the noise, spying a sleepy Mr. Tucker nursing a hot mug of hazelnut roast in his pudgy hands. A little ways away they could hear what sounded like Mrs. Tucker fixing herself a cup of coffee as well. Tweek eyed the ceramic mug in his boyfriend’s father’s hands with envy. Mrs. Tucker made the best coffee, almost as good as his dads.  
  
“Do I wanna’ know?” Mr. Tucker sighed, the grogginess in his voice making his country drawl sound even more congested than normal. He spared a slight nod of acknowledgement to Tweek before his eyes flicked back to the bright news announcements detailed on the television, not even awaiting an answer from the gaggle of boys suspended in various motions of awkwardness.  
  
Each boy shook their head rapidly, almost to the point of whiplash, as they in turn muttered practiced “No, sir.” Craig’s dad had mellowed out in his old age, but he still was a regular hard ass, and quick to snap out criticism. Like father like son.  
  
Sighing and reclining back into his armchair Mr. Tucker waved his hand lazily at the clump of teenage boys huddled into his living room archway to goad them away from his sight.  
  
Scrambling quickly, they fumbled for the carpeted staircase that led to the upstairs rooms where Craig was probably waiting for them half-awake. They tried to be quiet but couldn’t contain their giggling at the absurdity of seeing Mr. Tucker in his camouflage bathrobe and bear-claw slippers. Plus, Clyde was still burning off all the sugary soda that made him irritably giddy, and Jimmy had told a total of 6 terrible hilarious jokes back in Token’s car that still had Kevin choking on his spit.  
  
Laughing once more, their jeering was cut off as they all startled into fits of astonished cursing when a loud bang was heard against one of the bedroom walls, Ruby fiercely telling them to “shut the fuck up” from behind her closed door. They all cackled louder, Clyde almost sputtering to the floor when she opened her door a crack just to thrust out a pink nail polished middle finger.  
  
Once they all piled into Craig’s room, Kevin, Clyde and Jimmy immediately made a struggled leap to snatch up the best game controllers to the Nintendo 64 that Craig had already turned on and warmed up, the gaming wires flooding the shaggily blue carpeted rug. In his haste to grab the best, Clyde had fallen and almost elbowed Kevin in the gut, who was already whining to Jimmy because he wanted the translucent purple controller. Token had by then opened up the cardboard contraption that held their tacos, humming at the prospect of an outrageously unhealthy breakfast. After fishing out two Doritos Locos, he threw one to Clyde who was finally settled against the side of Craig’s bed. With a satisfied yawn, Clyde unwrapped his delicious taco and took a bite before blearily looking at the character screen and debating whether he wanted to be Donkey Kong or Princess Peach.  
  
Craig watched them all idly with a sigh before he grabbed his hat from his cluttered floor and pushed it messily on his head, tugging at the yellow chords till the flaps were snug.  
  
Slipping back under his plaid blue and gray bed covers, Craig watched Tweek out of the corner of his eye before he made a jerking motion with his hands to lift up the blankets, tiredly coaxing the fretting blond to ease under the covers with him. After a little hesitation, mainly because he had to kick off his shoes for fear of tracking slush and mud in the others bed, Tweek snuggled under the covers, his side pressed to the other teens. He closed his eyes softly, for a moment, and felt the warmth and scent of his boyfriend engulf him.  
  
Sitting up slightly, Tweek let Craig lean over to the already almost empty boxes of tacos and yank one out. His arm wrapped around Tweeks middle, Craig gave out a tired grunt before he gave the blond a kiss that missed his lips and smeared the side of his face because it was still early in the morning and his hand to eye coordination skills were shit. Biting fiercely into his taco, the black haired teen rested his chin against Tweeks shoulder to watch Clyde make an ass out of himself. They were playing Mario Kart so of course Kevin and Jimmy were gonna’ cream him.  
  
Each time Craig chewed his meal, Tweek could feel his chin butt against his shoulder, could feel the side of Craig’s warm face brush against his neck, tickling his sensitive nose with his body odor. It should have been gross, hearing the other chew and swallow, but it was just nice to be nestled under a heavy duvet while their friends laughed and joked, the heater on full blast and Stripe II chirping happily in her cage. Occasionally Craig would send Tweek a little smile, only one that he could see, followed with a hum and a pecked kiss.  
  
_Yeah_ , Tweek decided with a sleepy lopsided grin on his face. Being with these dorks, who were all willing to get together at the ass-crack of dawn, all for him? Well, that sure was nice.


End file.
